Held in the palm of your hand.

I am tired
of taking pills
of giving in
of all the pain
of hiding away
of everything I do to
     make
       me
         feel
           better.


Nothing ever works anyway.


I’ve heard a lot of people talk about ‘losing everything’ and their ‘lives falling apart’. Sometimes, they speak the truth.
But most of the time
   they
     don’t.
Or they speak the kind of over-exaggerated truth that may feel real, but upon reflection, it wasn’t as bad as they originally thought.

Because the
worst
they’ve ever felt
wasn’t really that bad
at
all.


I envy them.


I’m not saying I’m the most unfortunate person on the planet. I’m not saying I’ve lived the worst life that anyone has ever lived;
far from it, really.
But the life you are born into and the things you are given
don’t seem to make much of a difference when something isn’t right in your head.

Inside your brain
Where it’s all wrong
                       wrong
                           wrong.


How many times can a person lose their mind, then get it back, then lose it again, then get it back, then lose it back, then get it again, then back it lose, then again it get, then lose again back, then again lose all then, then it get lose mind, then again again again again again again again
                                                                                                   ?


People go crazy for a lot of reasons. I mean, fuck, there are crazy people everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.


Except for most of those people, there are reasons behind their actions. They are crazy for a reason.
A boy maybe
or a douchebag boss
a backstabbing friend
fuckwit families
drugs
attention
bullying
poverty
abuse
rape
loneliness
failure.
And yeah, I’ve experienced some or all of the above. But none of it, none of it caused my problems upstairs. None of it made me sick.
Because I was
    already sick.
Because I was
    always sick.


Sick
‘Sick’
“Sick”
*Sick*


The kind you are born with.
The kind you die with.
The kind you die from.

I’m just tired, that’s all I’m saying.





hexed hoe hexed hoe.

Today I posted a facebook status that went something like this:

“Occupy Wall Street is like me standing naked outside a supermarket, throwing my feces and screaming ‘SOLVE WORLD HUNGER, BITCHES!’. Good work on identifying the problem…poor effort on the feasible/practical/logistical/implementable solution.”

It was received with a large amount of ‘likes’, and one angry, rage-y, rant-y response.

So, in the spirit of proving my point and furthering my already superhuman procrastination powers, here is the facebook conversation, in blog form. Note my pwnage (with justification…yeah!).












hexed hoe hexed hoe.

Epicurus thought he had it figured. And maybe he did. I mean yeah, he skipped over some minor details, but his point remains. All we need in life, to be happy, is that which is natural and necessary. Food, water, shelter, friendship, freedom, and thought. Things which are natural and unnecessary are not important and should be limited. But those things which are unnatural and unnecessary should be unmistakeably avoided. For it is these things that become addictions. They take over so that nothing else matters, not even the natural and necessary. Condemned, if you will. Sometime after Epicurus’ death, new theories about the distinctions between how to go to heaven/hell/purgatory were theorised. One of them was about addicts. About how they were the most unhappy of all. About how their souls were no longer free. Once an addict, always an addict. You sell your soul, and even if you are 10 years clean, you are still a soulless abyss. Just waiting to die. Just waiting for tomorrow when you’re another day clean, fantasising about that first summer when everything was ok and your soul was only just slipping away. They said that the addicts were the souls who remained on earth. No heaven, and no need for hell - they were already living it, and destined to continue doing so. So all the ghosts you hear of, all the figures you’re yet to see…they are the addicts. Alcohol, drugs, sex, food, gambling, internet, people, power, fame, fortune, attention, love, hate, and everything else addicts, including the inability to let go addicts. The story your mother tells of seeing a girl crying in a corner. Or how your friend swears he saw the essence of a little boy in a graveyard. Just earthbound addict souls, twisted and taunted and haunted for the rest of eternity. Because it never, ever, leaves. Not even in death. And I just don’t know why it happened to me. But I’m so sick of trying. Just prolonging the inevitable. I have so much hate. For everyone. The fragility of life loses its appeal when you already know your fate.





hexed hoe hexed hoe.